A Lover So Betrothed
by MLMartineau
Summary: Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet become engaged, and struggle to know themselves, and learn to know one another.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 _"… In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, Mr. Darcy continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted."_

 _~Pride & Prejudice, Chapter XVI of Volume III, Jane Austen_

The remains of that day at Longbourn was not so unusual, not remarkable at all, taking into account that the acknowledged lovers within the house passed the hours together in a solitary corner of the drawing room, laughing and talking to one another as they had done for well-nigh a fortnight. Charles Bingley's eyes were so dotingly fixed at the singular pastime of gazing at the angelic face of his beloved Jane; and her hand was so deftly placed within his, as to make Miss Elizabeth Bennet once or twice sigh aloud at the spectacle of a young couple so violently in love.

This was not to say that the sight before Elizabeth was wholly unpardonable to her wits; for there was a pang of envy within her heart at the easy display of such affection. Her cheeks donned a rising blush rather becoming to her classical beauty, yet although she was indeed envious of the happy pair, and a little embarrassed at being a witness to their unreserved adoration, Elizabeth could not find fault with the exhibition of joy shown by her sister and soon-to-be brother.

Nor could Elizabeth Bennet see any culpability in the couple's willingness to flaunt their feelings so effortlessly. For unbeknownst to most everyone else in the room, Elizabeth Bennet, herself, was indeed a lover betrothed.

Elizabeth was certain that she was happy about the whole business of accepting Mr. Darcy's offer of marriage earlier that day; her mind was quite fixed at being sensibly engaged, and she was indeed in love with the man himself. It was all precisely what she had come to want in her life at present, except for her disappointment in her own lack of nerve at the prospect of spreading the news of her engagement throughout the entirety of her family.

The neighborhood had certainly not warmed to Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire, and although Elizabeth, in knowing him better, had grown to like him; to _love_ him, really; she had done very little to hearten the improvement of his character in the eyes of her family and friends. She had truly kept the whole affair with the gentleman a secret unto herself.

Elizabeth knew the truth of Darcy's good nature, for his recent demonstration of benevolence toward she and her sister Lydia, the kindness and concern he had shown at Lambton, and his acceptance of the Gardiners were indeed all the proof necessary. Elizabeth was now sure of his devotion toward herself; and she was certain that her family would come to know Mr. Darcy in this good way as well. In time, everyone would learn to love the man—of this, she was confident; almost.

Whether or not Mr. Darcy would learn to like _her_ family was a vexation of noteworthy proportions. It was not something Elizabeth could ponder at present, for any notion of it made her shudder as if she had caught a January chill. Those were thoughts for another day, another time, and perhaps another story, for these thoughts simply did not complement Elizabeth's sudden happiness.

Elizabeth glanced at her sister Mary, who sat in a chair near the window; her bespectacled nose buried in a small, blue, leather-bound volume undoubtedly written by Scott. She wondered that Mary might ever wed, and she questioned whether it could possibly be a match inherent of love. She was sure that Mary would have little to say concerning Elizabeth's own engagement, once it was divulged, other than to inquire as to how very soon Elizabeth would be leaving their father's house for that of her new husband.

In her sister Kitty, Elizabeth surmised a fortune in marriage akin to their youngest sister Lydia, though she certainly hoped that it would never come to pass. She prayed that Lydia's misfortune to have wed in haste to avoid ridicule would pose a lesson in prudence to the other silly sister, and she thought perhaps through the good society surrounding Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, her sister might come to benefit. As to Kitty's thoughts on Elizabeth's own marriage, the latter girl did not find much comfort or delight in such speculation.

Elizabeth's eyes darted quickly toward her mother. Resourceful conceit was evident on the countenance of the elder woman as she smiled and tended to her needlework by the fire screen. Without a doubt her mind was busy composing what words of awe and compliment should be put to print in the papers concerning her dearest daughter's engagement to Mr. Charles Bingley of Netherfield, and surely she mused at how agreeable it was to be for the neighborhood to hear the banns of marriage announced on this very Sunday. Mrs. Bennet was to have yet another daughter wed perhaps before the New Year, and Elizabeth did ponder her mother's response with some displeasure, upon her discovery that the sum of the woman's good luck would lately be manifest at three.

Were Elizabeth's parents to congratulate her on receiving such an offer? She was impatient, yet uneasy to ascertain such information. She thought perhaps her father would be disappointed, and her mother vexed, both attitudes borne from a false impression of the man who Elizabeth had chosen to accept. Or, would any objection that her parents might have been overlooked by Mr. Darcy's position in society and condition of wealth? Perhaps _that_ would be far worse than any other aim to accept him into their family circle.

Elizabeth had no desire to hurt a soul, not her mother nor her father, and certainly not her new and cautious lover, but she did desire her own happiness to be complete; and all of her joyful thoughts turned in the direction of the man who once had made her weep out of anger and misguided impressions, but who now made her feel a warmth throughout her body and mind, each and every time she did happen to look his way.

Across the room, seeming as if he busied himself by weighing his own pleasures and pitfalls to his recently made match, sat Fitzwilliam Darcy. The truth of the matter of the day was coming to occupy the gentleman's thoughts entirely, and the reality of it certainty hit him square between the eyes; that he was now, undeniably, somewhat legitimately and justifiably, engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Jane Bennet was at times keen in her perceptions, and she noticed that the friend of her betrothed was far more restless at Longbourn that night than she had ever seen. "Perhaps Mr. Darcy is anxious to be at Netherfield?" she put forward the question to her dear Bingley.

Charles Bingley took leave of his employment of excessive adoration of his beloved, and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Darcy. When he turned back to Jane he twisted an odd sort of grin and slowly shook his head.

"I cannot make him out."

"Perhaps this is a cruelty for him?" Jane conjectured.

"Possibly," replied Bingley, "He does not fare well in company such as this. He is in possession of his own mount, and he may depart whenever he desires."

"That is not precisely what I meant, dearest."

"Do you mean—our love?" Bingley doubted. "You mean to say that _our_ happiness is a cruelty for him? I think not, for he seems sincerely pleased that it has come about."

Jane looked at her sister Elizabeth, and so also did Bingley, and then they both took another glance at Darcy. The gentleman had always cast his gaze a great deal at the lady when they had been thrust together in society, and as a result, the lady had regularly born a blush upon her cheeks; and this night was no exception.

"Have you ever wondered," Bingley addressed his darling with unexpected mirth, "that Darcy could be in love with your sister?"

Such a statement, for many reasons, did not surprise Jane. She did not feel as though it was her place to disclose the confidences of Elizabeth and her speculations stemming from her visit to Derbyshire that perhaps Mr. Darcy might still be in love with her after all; but Charles had been there as well. Perhaps he knew more than he let on.

Bingley chuckled beneath his breath. "My friend over there is duty driven—no doubt he will soon settle on some female acquaintance in Town—or perhaps even his cousin. I have heard gossip to the effect that his aunt has arranged such a match."

"Certainly, it cannot be his desire to settle," Jane felt the truth of her words deep within her own heart, for she did love her sister dearly, and wish for her all that did constitute her happiness, if it was Mr. Darcy who did indeed make her happy. "Does he truly love her; do you think?"

"Who?" Bingley replied with a distinct arch of his brow, "his cousin or _your_ sister?"

"His _cousin_ ," Jane was quick to define by a whisper and a blush.

"I do not know," Bingley sighed. "He has never chosen to discuss the matter with me, yet do you not suppose that a man so inclined to be in love would be apt to state it plainly? I do know that it was _my_ inclination—once I _knew_ of my own mind. Certainly Darcy does know his own mind quite well."

Jane replied with a shy, yet delighted smile at her lover's newly found assurance. She left the conversation at that, for she did suppose that Mr. Darcy would not renew his addresses to Elizabeth, as her sister had said. The man's own pride would certainly prevent it from ever being so, and certainly Elizabeth had no desire for Mr. Darcy to repeat his offer.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, however, was increasingly miserable at Longbourn; _and_ euphoric, and how two such conflicting feelings could meld together within a man's mind, to Darcy, was yet to be determined outside the written pages of a romantic novel. He longed to sit beside Elizabeth, much in the manner that his friend sat with his own betrothed—but that, on this occasion, was indeed impossible. It would not be a likely occurrence until Elizabeth's father gave his consent to the match, and Darcy's wits and modesty did forbid him from advancing into Mr. Bennet's library with such a purpose in mind and making the application on this night.

Darcy had not yet fully discussed the details with Elizabeth of going to her father, and he felt that he should do so, for her sake; for he did not want to tempt her ire and reproach by any variety of insult that he could so involuntarily devise. He wanted to gather his own feelings and thoughts together into a semblance of some sort of sense, he sought to determine precisely what he would say, so as not to make a complete fool of himself; and as yet, Darcy had not come by the opportunity to consider and choose his words.

The gentleman was made to take a sudden and anxious glance at Elizabeth. He wondered what she thought, he questioned what she felt, and he had to contemplate if her feelings did tend to be the very same as his, for it appeared as if each countenance, hers and his, was in possession of an identical sort of blissfully bewildered daze.

Darcy's eyes fixed on Elizabeth's as together they shared a hesitant glance between them. She blushed, and he sighed, and either lover was far too uncertain of their tacit betrothal to continue an occupation of which they both pined for so desperately.

Darcy realized that he knew so little of Elizabeth's life, and she knew so little of his own. They had never really talked of superfluous things, as lovers ought to do once they are in love. They had by no means said those things to one another that perhaps seemed trifling and ridiculous to others, but were so wholly important in coming to be acquainted with the one that you adore. They had never spoken much of their feelings for one another, at all.

Darcy's face felt flushed and hot to his touch when he reached up a hand to run across his cheek and chin, and he fidgeted in his seat as every muscle in his body tensed, and his leg wanted to quake and tap the right heel of his boot on the floor, in an unnerving reel brought about by such disguise and desire.

The palms of his perspiring hands came to lie on his knees, smoothing the fabric of his breeches; and the pulsing of his nerves made him want to scramble to his feet and shout out anything halfway daft, even if he could not conceive of why he should be tempted to do such an unseemly thing. He stood up from his seat, giving the briefest, most adoring smile to Elizabeth as was allowed by clandestine decorum, for he could not help himself, and he applied to his friend as he swallowed, "Shall we say good night, Bingley?"

Charles Bingley sighed, knowing his friend was usually sensible in his judgment of such elementary things. He stood up, and placed a tender kiss on Jane's hand. Elizabeth was quick to clamber to her feet and steal an affectionate, yet private, doe-eyed glance at Darcy; and he was eager to receive her regard. In her direction he whispered quite hastily and simply, "Tomorrow, then," and Elizabeth gave a clear smile of receipt and gratitude.

The gentlemen claimed their mounts by the front doors of the house, and Jane watched them leave the grounds from the dining room windows, with Elizabeth ever so close behind her; as miserable, and as obliged as she could ever be to see Mr. Darcy go away.

* * *

The cool air of an autumn evening felt good on Darcy's face, and at once he came to be somewhat better, though he had no reprieve from the thoughts and notions spinning round in his head concerning his state of affairs. There were no natural words for his condition, for to say that he was besotted only indulged a mere fraction of his state of wits.

He was lovesick, true; he was happy, yes; he was nervous and anxious, for absolutely certain; he was bothered beyond good regulation for a man of his condition, indeed; and he had come to be somewhat undisciplined about it all.

"Dinner was quite good this night," Charles Bingley made conversation. "Better than most I have had at Longbourn, I would say."

Darcy stared blankly, almost obliquely at his friend. "I cannot now remember what it was that we ate," he had to admit.

"Partridges and chestnut dressing," Bingley replied. "I was speaking of the partridges that I shot with Mr. Bennet on his land, yesterday."

"I thought it was simply a small chicken, well done."

" _Certainly not_ ," Bingley objected, knowing full well that Darcy was aware of the subtle distinction between wild and domestic fowl. "I was plenty hungry after walking out today—say, Darcy," Bingley bent the subject, as nonsensical to him as it was, "where did you and Miss Bennet go off to earlier this day?"

Darcy did well to conceal his discomfiture, even if the unnerving twitch of his cheek with the clenching of his jaw was something near to suspicious. "Sorry?" he queried, crossly.

Bingley smiled, for he knew better than to press his friend for answers and have a hope of receiving a rational account of events. Darcy was too curious for his own good, and far too uncomfortable not to glance back at Bingley as their horses trod on, side by side. Bingley continued to grin, and Darcy, unpredictably, was forced by impulse to follow suit, and his face went red for being caught at such a game.

"I beg of you, Bingley," he finally choked out an anomalous reply, and then said, "I am not quite sure what you want of me."

For once Charles Bingley was inclined to be silent on matters of life and love, on matters of anything at all. He cocked his hat to the side, a sort of blockade between the likes of gentlemen, and kindly left Darcy to his private thoughts, and that suited a timid new lover quite well—quite well, indeed.

* * *

Elizabeth set aside her needlework and went early to her room. She spent the better half of an hour occupied at brushing her hair dazedly in front of the looking glass, when she finally realized that she had never been so fastidious about her hair before in the whole of her life, and she quickly set down the brush on the top of the vanity.

She could keep her secrets no longer, and so she scampered to Jane's bedchamber and peered through the doorway. Jane was sitting on her bed; lost in her own thoughts of love and fancy, and when Elizabeth entered the room unannounced her sister gave a start.

"Lizzy," Jane sighed. "I thought that you had gone to bed?"

"Jane—oh, Jane," Elizabeth could not mask an anxious giggle as she secured the door. "There is something I must tell—I must, before I burst from keeping such news."

Elizabeth's situation was immediately disclosed to the one person who would understand, yet to Elizabeth's astonishment Jane replied with some shock and incredulity. Elizabeth was quick to give her assurances that all was true, and that she herself was indeed betrothed, being joyful at the prospect and delighted with her choice.

There were some questions on Jane's part, and Elizabeth answered them as honestly and forthright as she was able, nonetheless with a little bit of teasing; and her sister was satisfied, and wished Elizabeth great joy. Elizabeth nearly wept for ridding herself of part of her feelings of apprehension in telling someone in her family of her circumstances; and she truly did find herself utterly happy.

"When did this come about?" Jane asked.

"Today—when we walked toward Meryton. Mr. Darcy did say that his feelings had not changed, and I said that my feelings had. It was such a relief to finally confess it, Jane—to say it aloud and not be afraid that he would slight my affection, or worse, that he would think me ill mannered."

"You are not ill mannered in the slightest, Lizzy," Jane decried.

Elizabeth blushed and her eyes turned away for a moment. "I suppose not," she sighed, "yet there are times when I feel myself so. I nearly ruined my own chance for happiness by believing in what others did say. I believe that I did Mr. Darcy great harm, and now I am heartily sorry for it."

"Perhaps nothing would have come to such a happy end, had you not behaved as you had done?"

The thought of this caused Elizabeth to regain her joy, for perhaps Jane had made a very good point. If Elizabeth had not listened to the deceitful words of others, Mr. Darcy may not have heard her own criticisms of his character; and conceivably they would have ended as strangers.

"But you said nothing of an engagement this night—to anyone," Jane disturbed Elizabeth's thoughts, "Certainly, Mr. Darcy should have gone to Papa."

"No!" Elizabeth quickly voiced her relief. "I wondered if he would, yet we had spoken nothing of it earlier. There was so much for us to say—we said what we could, mostly in regret for our behavior toward one another this last year, and there was hardly time for anything else. I shall give him praise and understanding, and say that he was not yet prepared to go to Papa, for I have come to know that Mr. Darcy is not a man of impulsive spirit."

"You are very considerate, Lizzy," Jane smiled. "You will make him a fine wife."

Elizabeth's smile was insuperable given her own pride in the matter, as she did tend to want to tease herself at the disclosure of this happy occasion. "I intend to be the very best wife," she affirmed, "indeed, I do—for Mr. Darcy could not have found a humbler, unprejudiced girl in all of England, had he tried just a little harder."

As she closed her eyes that night, happily tucked into bed, Elizabeth recalled those words of promise. She did not truly know what it was to be a lover, or one so affianced, although she had often tried to conjure such likely feelings so as not to be wholly amazed on the day that it did in fact happen to come her way. Her youthful speculations had been wrong, for nothing could have prepared her for the true delight and longing, and anxiety of the actuality of being a woman so gladly betrothed.

She would always press herself to be a good wife, for although she considered her mother somewhat of a failure at such a task, and Elizabeth did not find comfort in the example of Charlotte Collins as an affectionate wife, she did indeed have a fine model in the manners of her Aunt Gardiner. Elizabeth so wanted to please Mr. Darcy; and instead of giving in to sleep, she began to think of all the ways in which her desires for excellence could be accomplished. She sat up and wrapped her arms about her knees, and in the darkness and solitude of her little room Elizabeth's mind made count all the ways in which a wife should love her husband.

* * *

"Do you care for a game of billiards, Darcy, or cribbage perhaps? Something more settling before we retire?"

Darcy had been intent on pacing the length of the drawing room, a glass of ruby-colored port in his hand, the liquid swirling in the vessel by the gentleman's own design and for his own pleasure. "Thank you, no," he spoke, easily and unaffected—yet from a detachment peculiar to Bingley.

Truly, Charles Bingley was far more at ease, comfortably sitting in a chair, occupied at watching his friend form an imaginary groove, back and forth, on the floorboards of the house, and calculating each pass on the watch suspended from his own fob. "Darcy," he was finally made to sigh, "I would ask if you are in some sort of trouble—if I did not know you as well as I do to deem such a possibility to be ludicrous at best."

Darcy abruptly halted, and turned toward Bingley. "You _are_ happy," he said in haste. "All has gone well with you—yes?"

"Happy?" Bingley was rather taken by surprise.

"Yes—at ease with your situation—your attachment, to Miss Bennet."

"Well," Bingley drew out the word, "of course I am."

Darcy let out a discomfited sigh. "I ask because…" he stopped, and redirected his course. "When it had happened, I had recently gone away, and although your letter did express your joy fairly eloquently on the merits of your engagement, Bingley, you did never tell me how you feel—you did not say what it is like to be a couple."

Bingley sat forward in his chair, his hands clasped before him. He saw nothing impertinent in the inquiry of his friend. "At first I suppose I was quite anxious," he replied. "I did not know what Jane was to say—or what her father was to do. I suppose there was always the chance that she was to refuse me, or that Mr. Bennet would not give his consent."

Darcy found that difficult to believe, and his skepticism shown on his face; although now, he was not quite certain about his own situation. "I take it," he grimaced cynically, "that it went well."

"No trouble at all," answered Bingley. "The family has been very good—very warm, in fact. Elizabeth Bennet is particularly kind. She is a very good girl and keeps her family at different occupations so that we may be left to ourselves. And Jane—she is truly a joy sent from heaven, Darcy."

Darcy smiled, mostly on hearing Bingley's account of Elizabeth's interference between a meddlesome family and the new lovers. From all that he ever heard and had witnessed of Elizabeth Bennet, she was undeniably a dear and steadfast sister and a good and devoted daughter.

"Within a day or so, I felt quite at home at Longbourn, and I was invited to come out with Mr. Bennet, round his farm, and to come shoot with him whenever I like," Bingley continued. "I think they will be welcome relations, Darcy. As for being in love—there is nothing so fine, and it suits me very well. How every day I look forward to the touch of Jane's hand in mine," he sighed, "and a divine kiss, I simply cannot express."

Darcy did not reply, but tipped down the last of his drink and walked away to set the glass upon the mantle. For a moment he stared into the bright flames of the fire burning in the hearth, and then once more he turned to face his friend, and declared without pause or reservation, "I too am engaged to be married, Bingley."

"Engaged?" came Charles' astonished response. "You did not say a word!"

Darcy laughed. "I have not had the occasion to do so," he answered with a smile so extraordinarily fetching upon his face as to convince Charles Bingley that what he said was genuine.

"When?" Bingley was on his feet and eager to know all. " _How_?"

"Just today," Darcy provided a succinct response, as was his rule. "Just."

"By letter? You have had a reply—or perhaps there was no need for one?"

Darcy looked puzzled, until he realized what notion his friend must own. He laughed once again, so poignant and delighted a chortle that Bingley himself chuckled, although he knew not what he laughed about.

"It is not what you think at all, Charles," said Darcy, still smiling; and then the gentleman spoke with such tenderness of feeling that Bingley had not the inclination to question the choice of his friend once the lady's name was voiced clearly.

"I have made an offer to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and she has accepted."

Bingley seemed a bit bewildered, but yet, not very astonished at all. "I knew it," he whispered to himself most triumphantly. "I was certain," he said clearly, "but then again—not! We thought it unlikely, Jane and I—nearly something impossible!"

Darcy was content to allow his friend a moment to speak aloud to himself. It seemed to Darcy a natural thing to do, or a least one that he did not care to take up great concern, although he could have taken issue with the claim that his attachment to Elizabeth Bennet might be labeled as ' _impossible'_.

"You are—both of you, in love?" Bingley was bold to inquire.

Darcy's face colored somewhat at the intimacy of the question. However, he of all men understood a friend's concern.

"It would seem that we are—both of us, in love."

"How long?"

This time, Darcy did well to conceal his mirth. "I cannot speak for the lady, but I have been in love with Elizabeth for some time. Indeed, for quite some time."

"Since meeting with her at Lambton?" Bingley could not help but try to pin down some sketch of time to satisfy his curiosity.

"Longer."

To this irrefutable reply, Charles Bingley had no response. He stood before a young man, who had been his friend for some time, and yet he had not really known him—he had not truly been certain that Fitzwilliam Darcy had been so in love with Elizabeth Bennet, nor she, in turn with the man that he would propose, and she accept.

Darcy chose to disrupt the private musings of his friend. "Are you to wish me joy, Charles?" his voice was low, and collected, yet Bingley gave a start.

"Of course!" Bingley soughed out in bemused pleasure, eagerly grasping Darcy's right hand, a clasp brought forth in friendship, and indeed brotherly approval. "I am _very_ happy, Darcy. We are to be more than friends; we shall be family. Yes, I say all has gone well for us!"

"Indeed," Darcy smiled in agreement, though he did raise a curious brow, a gesture to rib, "but I have yet to speak with Mr. Bennet."

"You shan't have a care about it," Bingley grinned and slapped his hand on Darcy's shoulder. "He is not such a worrisome fellow, after all."

At Netherfield that night, in a well-appointed bedchamber, sleep did not come easy for Fitzwilliam Darcy, for true bliss had in no way been a frequent caller to the man. He felt better about his situation, upon hearing from another that such emotions in a gent were not so rare. That elation and apprehension were not such odd bedfellows, after all.

Although inexperienced in such a certain circumstance as marriage itself, Darcy did know how to be a lover; but not a lover so betrothed to the woman of his utmost desire. A single life, mainly conducted with good regulation was in the past, and he knew it as true. It was not something that Darcy could pine away for, as the prospect of marriage seemed apt and good; marriage, that was, to Elizabeth. Perhaps there was some advantage in allowing oneself to feel frivolous and playful now and again. Indeed, it would be his greatest pleasure to sit in a solitary corner of a room with Elizabeth, to talk and to laugh, and to be in love.

Darcy thought of what words he was to say to Elizabeth's father, yet nothing was as sincere, nothing from the depths of his soul nor even the simplest of words that he could ever utter aloud would truly reveal what elation he honestly felt upon Elizabeth's acceptance and approval. Darcy would simply tell the truth of it all, and communicate to Mr. Bennet how this had all come about—well; mostly he would recount the truth.

He eyed the grayish outline of the clock on the mantle as he lay on the bed linens, counting every tick, the sound of which echoed against the walls of the moonlit room, and Darcy's arms came to rest underneath the pillow below his head. The pendulum within the case ticked on and on, and upon the chime of two, Darcy could not possibly question his own feelings or think another thought, rational or not, that prevented his dreams of being near Elizabeth. His elbows brought the pillow round his ears, blocking out the noise; and Darcy, a young man so happily betrothed, finally fell asleep.

* * *

Charles Bingley stood in the drawing room of Longbourn house the following day, his friend somewhat impatiently waiting behind. Bingley's smile was so very bright, and his affectionate embrace of Elizabeth's slender hands upon his greeting her, told of his good information and his sincerest joy to have been informed of the engagement.

Elizabeth was pleased that Darcy had told his friend, and she nodded her cautious appreciation to her soon-to-be brother, and the twinkle in her eyes beamed her endorsement toward Darcy. He, in turn smiled with devotion, and anyone could have seen how well he and she suited one another—anyone, who had the presence of mind at Longbourn to have noticed.

Mrs. Bennet, ignorant of all that went on before her, interrupted by supposing that Bingley and Jane, and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth of course as chaperones, and Kitty, all walk toward Oakham Mount. Surprisingly, in the audience of Mrs. Bennet, Darcy spoke up, eagerly expressing a great desire to see the place.

"I have heard that it affords a fine prospect of Meryton."

"Indeed," countered Mrs. Bennet curtly, "the finest as seen anywhere—even, I image, _Derbyshire_."

Darcy turned to Elizabeth, and the corners of his mouth upturned in a keen smile. "What do you think, Miss Bennet? Is it the equal of a Derbyshire landscape?"

"While I did find the scenery in your neighborhood to be a sight that could offer a girl a lovely revelation," Elizabeth replied playfully, referring to their meeting, "I think you should not be disappointed with the view that you perceive, once we are atop Oakham Mount."

"I have no doubt," nodded Darcy, delighted by her cheeky reply, and offering up one of his own, "that you are quite correct."

It was settled that Kitty certainly did not wish to walk out at all, and their mother, believing her other daughter and Mr. Darcy to be uncommitted in every way, bid the four a pleasant journey. Mr. Bingley and Jane walked ahead, as close to one another as they could be, and Darcy and Elizabeth brought up the rear, leaving some distance between. They did not walk shoulder-to-shoulder, arm in arm, as lovers, for they would be far too conspicuous a pair until they reached the lane, beyond any person's prying eye.

Elizabeth had always been an excellent walker, but in desiring so dearly to be nearer to Darcy, she gave a little stumble on a wayward mound of grass, and the gentleman offered his arm to steady his companion. Elizabeth eagerly slipped her gloved hand through the crook of his right arm, past the folds of his greatcoat, a triumphant grin on her pretty face for her deception, and Darcy easily drew her closer.

They were in no hurry to match the pace of the other lovers so far ahead, but both intended a leisurely meander. "Mr. Bingley seems very pleased with the news of our engagement," Elizabeth spoke first.

"Yes," Darcy smiled down at her, "he says that he is very happy."

Elizabeth marveled at her lover's turn of phrase. "My sister Jane is delighted as well."

"Very good. I am very glad to hear that someone at Longbourn does approve of the match. Bingley says that you have been of great use to them—that you have been kind enough to keep your family occupied so that as lovers he and your sister may become better acquainted."

Elizabeth laughed, and in watching Darcy, she saw him laugh as well. He was handsome to be sure, but he was beautifully striking when he laughed, and when he smiled; and Elizabeth hoped to see such a sight more often than not.

"Perhaps Mr. Bingley will be so kind as to return the favor, for us?" Elizabeth surmised.

"Somehow," Darcy concluded, "I believe it is his objective."

"Have you and he been friends long?"

"For some time, yes. My father was acquainted through business with Bingley's father, though we did not pursue a formal acquaintance until after my father's passing. We met at a dinner party and discovered the association of our families, and we found that we made clever friends, being that opposites in temper are oftentimes well-matched."

Elizabeth found herself amused by his easy conversation and ready humor. "Indeed," she replied, "you are quite different."

"Bingley is a very good man, and I am sure that your sister will find life with him to be a happy union."

"You are, both of you, very good men," Elizabeth acknowledged openly. "My sister and I are very fortunate to have caught the attention of such men, as we shall bring so little to the union."

Darcy stopped and turned toward his betrothed. "You and your sister are deserving, Elizabeth, of every good thing in marriage. There is so much to be treasured, aside from a financial arrangement, and you merit the notice of good men, dowry or not."

"I fear some would not agree."

"And I am wholly thankful for it, or we might not now be walking this lane together," Darcy applied his wisdom. "You are to be desired for your good opinions and sense, Elizabeth, and cherished for your companionship, and your beauty. You will bring a great deal of brilliance to my house, and to my life; and I hope and pray that I shall be what you desire and need in a husband."

Elizabeth took in a breath for the display of his persuasion, "I am convinced that you are, sir—that you will be the finest husband for me. Each time I look at you, I see more goodness than I had come to see before."

Darcy's heart was without doubt touched by the sincerity in which Elizabeth had delivered her words. Her words could not, at this occasion, have been easily spoken had not they been said in truth.

"I do love you, Elizabeth" he sighed, his courage assembled high, "and I have come to miss being near to you. Last night most of all."

Elizabeth's equanimity was overcome by Darcy's sudden pronouncement of love and desire. "Each time you leave Longbourn, I too miss you dreadfully," she answered, "I feel as if I am holding my breath—all the while. I like you very much."

Darcy was puzzled by her reply. He had made the first move as a lover; he had in fact acknowledged that one particular word, that one sentiment to Elizabeth, although she had stopped ever so short of a similar avowal. Darcy would have preferred that she had spoken her own expressions of love, not like, though it had been many months that he had been patient, in hopes that his vast affection for Elizabeth would someday be returned.

Elizabeth, at once realizing what she had done, or not done, suddenly felt a profound mortification. Her teeth bit down on her lip and she found herself unable to say anything more, for she thought that she could lose Darcy's admiration if she persistently felt herself required to apologize for every inequitable phrase that sprang from her lips. She had no reason for not offering Mr. Darcy proof of her love, for she knew that she loved him dearly, though she was far too young and inexperienced to know how to state it plainly; Elizabeth Bennet was naive in the ways of a lover so betrothed to know precisely what to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Despite every emotion that had ever crossed the hearts and minds of Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet during the year of their bemused acquaintance, one attitude had simply escaped their notice. A feeling of mutual comfort had been impossible for either to reconcile, as neither Darcy nor Elizabeth had truly spent much time together, alone.

Darcy, having applied again for Elizabeth's hand in marriage, and she having now bestowed it, brought about an alteration of every understanding that the two had acknowledged before; and this new angle to the connection created novel and unusual feelings in two taciturn people. As the couple explored the countryside, the sights known to one though not the other, they each had an opportunity to measure their connection.

In Elizabeth's countenance there was eagerness. She came to possess an enthusiasm to delight her lover's every notice, and it was her inclination, which had always been her bent, to know of Darcy's motives—past as well as present. On their walk, she asked him questions of himself and of his life—inquiries in which Darcy answered out of love and in deference for Elizabeth, though until now he had shunned such an occupation.

In Darcy's character there soon befell a particular harmony rare to the gentleman. His pleasure was obvious by his proclivity to smile each and every time he did look his lover's way, and by the esteem visible in his eyes, esteem he reserved for Elizabeth. The ease with which he came to draw Elizabeth closer to him as they walked gave them both some reassurance that they were indeed to be, forevermore, a couple.

As they walked on, Mr. Darcy became amicable, eyeing the horizon. Oakham Mount was a curious place, described to him by Elizabeth, as they neared the foot of the incline. The place was particular to the history of that region of Hertfordshire—a fortress atop a formidable hill brought forth from the necessities of a dark and brutal age. Its early manor and surrounding rampart had long crumbled, the casualty of conquest and pilfering, and of the English weather. All that remained were rugged stones half buried that had once composed a sturdy foundation.

For some time, it had been a place of solitude and escape for Elizabeth, somewhere for her to go when the headaches of Longbourn simply would not do. The lofty vista offered a splendid sight of the neighborhood, Meryton to the east, Longbourn to the South, and Netherfield to the west. It had allowed Elizabeth her very first look at Mr. Darcy a year ago as he and his friend had been out riding, surveying an easterly field of Netherfield Park, although then she had not known who he was, nor could she have ever guessed whom he would, in fact, become.

Their climb up the hill, arm in arm, was not so taxing, as there was a path well-worn into the turf, which did wind round and round, leading toward the top. Darcy studied the course ahead, occasionally glancing at Elizabeth, and asking as to the strain, to be sure the hike was not too much for her to bear. Elizabeth thought the gesture enchanting, though never once did she admit to him just how often she had made the ramble on her own, and in no way would she let on how effortless it had always been.

Near to the top of the mount were small terraces, fashioned by the footsteps of climbers as makeshift steps to reach the crest. The couple stopped, and Darcy let go of Elizabeth's arm and glanced at what lay ahead.

Elizabeth admired the dauntless manner in which Darcy scaled the stages a few at a time in his haste to reach the top. He had always appeared fit, not a man to squander his time in idleness, as his station in life might suggest. From her first impressions, Elizabeth knew him to be conservative, particularly for so young a man, and yet he had the advantage and appeal of youthful and agile physicality.

Darcy turned about, removed his gloves and set himself secure with his walking stick. Only then did he present his strong and steady hand back down for Elizabeth's protection. She gladly received the offer; removing the petite kid gloves from her own hands, and placing her bare palm within his so that she would not slip, and Darcy gently guided her over the jagged steps, making Elizabeth feel as if her feet had not the need to touch the ground at all.

Elizabeth was now safe and sound on the earth at the weathered top of the peak, but Darcy did not release her hand. His fingers came to entwine through hers in a timely suggestion of resolve; since in the confidential scheme of both he and his betrothed—two lovers must surely be permitted this one familiarity.

Darcy's hand was warm and dry, his skin singularly smooth to Elizabeth's touch, even if his grip was solid in its purpose. Elizabeth was determined to linger in the effect of the novel experience, and she was joyful for the chance of it; but then she glanced up at her partner, uncertain that it was quite harmless between them that they should remain so linked.

"I shall not let go," Darcy spoke with an ardent gist, "Unless, of course, _you_ wish it."

"I do _not_ wish it," she returned, trembling; a healthy blush spread extensively across her face and neck.

Jane and Charles Bingley had chosen not to complete the journey, for they had by now become comfortable together. Instead, they found a clearing in the grasses below where they could sit, and spend time laughing and flattering one another, with all the affection that lovers could assemble, and confer together on the particulars of their forthcoming wedding. Certainly, they awarded no notice of their friends, quite on principle, bringing forth gratitude from both Darcy and Elizabeth.

The gusts of wind that often blustered atop Oakham Mount did busily blow at the tails of Darcy's greatcoat, and billowed Elizabeth's muslin skirts and petticoat about her legs. The view from where the couple stood was without a doubt as fine as had been promised, and in some ways, the breeze was exhilarating after such a trek. The sights before the pair swept away all sense in their minds and stirred every sensibility of their spirits. Indeed, the aim of two lovers who yearned for a little solitude, and the objectives of one meddlesome mother, was complete indeed.

After a time, Elizabeth's pretty eyes peered coyly beneath her bonnet toward Darcy, to find his eyes affixed on her. "Does the prospect compare with what you have seen in Derbyshire?" she asked, still possessing a blush.

"Not at all," he sighed. "I find the sight of you more beautiful since then—by far."

Elizabeth laughed; "You are indeed a flatterer."

"I would think you would not tolerate too much adulation," Darcy nodded with a classic grin, down in the direction of Elizabeth's sister Jane and her lover, Bingley. "They fawn over one another with doe eyes and flatter each other enough for us all, I think," he had to chuckle at the notion. "More ardent words of desire, I imagine, have never before been spoken by two people so in love. Not even, I wager, in the text of a sonnet."

Elizabeth giggled at the comment, for with every moment that passed in the company of Darcy, she came to realize how very much alike they truly were in wit, and in temper.

"Do you admit, Mr. Darcy," her eyes brightened as she spoke, "that it is not in your character to speak words of love to a girl?"

Darcy grimaced, "In that, I have had little practice. Will you go easy on me, my love?"

Elizabeth smiled and nodded wholeheartedly, and she loved him all the more for giving it a go. Darcy had spoken words that, for him and for her, did not come naturally.

For the first time, Darcy called Elizabeth _his love_ ; simple and succinct, and ever so doting for such a reserved man. Those very words came to be the endearment he would forever use to call her when she was needed, and to make his position clear during argument or later in apology; these would become the words he would sigh in her ear when they were close.

"Come, sir, what of the landscape?" Elizabeth heard herself change the subject. "Does it compare to Derbyshire?"

"The landscape?" Darcy laughed to clear his head, and then obliged his partner by looking out at the vast scene. "I have far more practice in describing the value of a landscape. I will be sure to tell your mother that it was pleasing, and that it was worth the suggestion for the convenience of being rid of me."

Elizabeth's brows furrowed in censure of her family. "With all my mother has done to dissuade you from finding comfort in my father's house, I should award you no blame for wanting to hold her in contempt."

"I try not to be influenced by mothers," he explained. "Even my own mother was guilty of unwelcome interferences."

At once Elizabeth remembered the alleged bargain between Darcy's mother and Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She realized that Mr. Darcy's proposal to her had spoiled all of Miss Anne de Bourgh's desires and all of Lady Catherine's hopes, yet for the most part and on this subject, Elizabeth was little affected. There was only one Mr. Darcy to be had by only one woman, and Elizabeth by her own good luck, thought herself the winning lady.

To Elizabeth's disappointment, Darcy let go of her hand. He swept the hat from his head, ran his hand through the strands of his disheveled hair, and looked about for a place where they both could sit. A large, old footing stone suited the purpose, and after Darcy let his hat, gloves, and walking stick drop to the ground, he shed his greatcoat and laid it out on the stone, motioning for Elizabeth to settle herself down upon the fabric.

When Elizabeth was seated, Darcy took a place beside her, and she quite consciously sidled her shoulder against his, and his arm, by design, slipped through the crook of hers. Again, his right hand faithfully embraced that of her left, until their fingers came to intertwine, without a doubt, searching once more for that sense of contentment.

To Elizabeth's judgment there was anything but ease to the situation. She could hear her lover's effortless breathing, and thought her own to be something far from easy; and when Elizabeth supposed that Darcy might at any moment turn and kiss her, she did sense herself begin to fluster in expectation of such intimacy, and she felt her hands begin to tingle. Nothing was spoken between them for some time, and although these silent pauses had made Elizabeth ill at ease during the acquaintance before their promises of love, she now came to anticipate and take delight in what pleasures and sensations could transpire between soundless, taciturn people.

"Elizabeth," Darcy, at last, spoke her name; and the lady did turn her full attention to him upon hearing his sobered voice. "I should want to go to your father this night, and petition his blessing to our match."

"Of course," she replied, her heart beating madly for the reality of her remaining apprehensions, and for the certainty of the pledge. Elizabeth grew more anxious, yet more determined, as now was the time that she must indeed declare her faults to Mr. Darcy.

"Is there any issue on which you will not settle?" he asked out of benevolence for her present economy. "Anything that would prevent your happiness?"

"I place the utmost confidence in you, sir. I do believe that my best interest is foremost in your thoughts."

"Truly, it is," Darcy answered candidly. "From this day and ever after your happiness is my concern. I would not want the tedious contents of a settlement to cause a rift between us."

Darcy held Elizabeth tighter; and he smiled in great satisfaction with his situation, glancing at her petite hand clasped in blissful union with his own. This is what he had wanted—longed for, all these many months; and at once his breathing was stilled, and he was overcome with the need to know what pleasures Elizabeth's kiss would bring. Yet when he turned and looked into her eyes, Elizabeth did not appear to be as easy as before. He could see that her desire to please him had vanished.

"I have to suppose," he spoke tenderly, refusing to be alarmed, "that your present melancholy must come from another source. Perhaps you have some reservations on my seeing your father?"

"No," Elizabeth replied, her judgment muddled, "I have no doubts of your good intentions, or fears of my own feelings. I do believe that my father will welcome you, but I must be prudent and offer you warning of his disposition on the subject."

For the first time that day Fitzwilliam Darcy appeared justly discomfited. "Warning of his disposition?" he repeated the very notion. "Do you tell me that your father may not favor the match?"

"No, I would not say precisely that," Elizabeth gave Darcy's hand a tighter clutch for reassurance.

"What then? Is it I who is lacking?" Darcy felt himself affronted, though he tried but failed to resist the temptation of presuming such private doubts. "Surely, you have not changed your mind?"

"Truly, no!" distressed, Elizabeth sought to curtail her lover's mistaken thoughts. "You are by far, the best man that I have ever known!"

"But what of your father?" his voice was kind, but direct, as Darcy's desires did not embrace such sport.

Elizabeth had no wish to be cruel, but because of their admitted affection, because of their devoted relationship, she could not now hide from Darcy any emotion that she felt. She spoke her mind, and she spoke it plainly.

"I am certain that my father will agree to our marriage, although he, and my mother, and my sisters save Jane, have not an inkling of our connection. My father knows only that we have formed an acquaintance, once, at a dance."

Darcy imparted a harmless, though less gentlemanlike exclamation to his maker, that he would rather not have said before Elizabeth. She took it in good humor, for Elizabeth would have thought him insensible had he not been a little bewildered on hearing such news.

"My father may not believe that I would agree to your kind offer," Elizabeth did her best to articulate her fears to her lover, although she was keenly aware of her failing in placating his mounting agitation. "I should not wish any repudiation he may offer up, to give you trouble or cause you to doubt the true nature of my affection for you."

"Right then," Darcy muttered, and followed with his dry wit coming forth. "To your family I am no better than a stranger. I should wonder what they might think of me if I had persuaded you to run away to Gretna Green."

"Dearest Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth sighed to calm him, though at any other time she could have laughed at his chosen allegory.

Mutual comfort by now was discarded to the wind, and both Darcy and Elizabeth were momentarily wretched. Elizabeth hastened once again to console her partner, to further explain herself as best as she could.

"I never said a word of your proposal last April to any soul other than to Jane," she went on. "I will not humiliate either of us on that account, for we are not the two people now that we were then. At that time, your declaration of affection, and the confessions in your letter confused me, for I had not guessed that your feelings could be so hurt by my refusal.

When I left Derbyshire in the summer, I did not think, with circumstances being what they were, that I would ever see you again. I could not believe that you would come to Hertfordshire and renew your addresses to me—I dared not hope, however much I wanted it to be so."

Although the elevation on Oakham Mount was not at fault, Darcy felt lightheaded. "You have thought me to be very shallow, Elizabeth," he swallowed, "and I suppose it possible for a man like myself to merit such opinions."

"If I ever did think you too proud to love me still, I cannot believe it now. How can I put in plain words how very much my own opinions then had changed? And when they had, I certainly sought to be your lover; and I desire now to be your wife."

Darcy did grasp the significance of Elizabeth's confession, and he was drawn into his own mortification and guilt on the matter. He never let go of Elizabeth's hand the entirety of her declaration or throughout his silent deliberation; in fact, he gripped her hand tighter, searching for mercy and offering penitence.

He spoke quietly when he was able, without pride on his behalf and without prejudice for Elizabeth's behavior. "What trouble might I have caused had I gone on in such arrogance?"

Elizabeth pouted. "I have forgotten which of us truly began it," she sighed, "and I prefer not to think of arrogance and prejudice ever again."

Darcy was in agreement. "I will be certain to make my feelings plain to your father, and try to give explanation of our acquaintance," he stopped to clear the strain from his voice, "and I will certainly pray, Elizabeth, after all that I have to say, that he considers me a fitting husband for you."

Elizabeth was pleased by Darcy's humility on the matter. "Will you allow me one more benevolence, sir?" she implored of a good man. "That I may enlighten my mother of our engagement, this night, when you have gone away to Netherfield."

Darcy nodded his concurrence, for what harm was to be had in what he hoped was one last night of guarded misery; and he was satisfied with Elizabeth's willingness for having asked his opinion. Elizabeth supposed herself glad for all that had been said between them, and she was relieved for memories set aside; yet she had one last thing to say as she smiled and brought their clasped hands toward her, brushing her soft, warm cheek against their intermingled fingers.

She whispered to her suitor, in her favored manner of familiar address, "I do so love you, Fitzwilliam", and Darcy's troubled heart found joy.

* * *

For the two lovers so surreptitiously betrothed the evening seemed endless. First came dinner, with all the formalities and trimmings, so seen to by Mrs. Bennet. Since it appeared to her that they got on passably well, she placed Mr. Darcy to her husband's left, and Elizabeth to her father's right at the table. This she did so that the two would be apt to engage in civil conversations across the table, far enough away from herself and her favorite, Mr. Bingley, and this, on any other occasion might have been considered by both Darcy and Elizabeth to be a good thing.

To be frank, more glances were exchanged about the table that night, than discourse. Elizabeth pushed what food she had taken about her plate and anxiously looked to Darcy, who in turn was made to eat more than he thought prudent, in hopes of avoiding suspicion.

Later that evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to his library, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow. Never before in her young life had Elizabeth felt so helpless, so frantic in spirit at the chance that the two men foremost in her life, would not get on at all.

Elizabeth fingered the needlework in her hands, pulling at the stitches that she considered uneven, until the good and the bad were indistinguishable. Nothing more could be done now to ease her mind other than to wait. Beneath her breath, Elizabeth did pray that her father would be sensible enough to hear out such a suitor, and that he would be reasonable to letting her go; and in her heart she had to trust that her Mr. Darcy might truly find himself devoid of any improper pride.

The making of an excellent match, albeit any match at all between a man and a woman, is at best a precarious business. It is simply not enough for two people, who know very little of love and its labours, to formally declare their affection and devotion to one another; for once that is done and feelings abound, the remaining efforts to securing just such a union is by all accounts wholly maddening.

It may perhaps seem a simple matter for the lady, for her duty is to answer her suitor's entreaty with a fervent yea, or a gentle nay; and assure her parents that her response is in earnest. Much, however, is expected of the man, for it is he, or so he often comes to believe, who, once accepted, is under the closest scrutiny in the affair.

Indeed, the gentleman ought to be a fitting catch, for a start; and therefore he is expected to provide evidence that he is willing and able to marry. His willingness, he is to exhibit, quite sincerely to his lover if he is to please and win her good opinion and that of her family, for a bride does not yearn for a husband who is estranged to her feelings. Consequently, a man's ability to provide for the economy of his betrothed is to be laid out in full before her parents if he is to succeed in declaring himself worthy of courting their daughter.

The application for such a betrothal is not a thing that a father bothers to teach his son, nor is a father himself instructed on his decorum upon receiving any such offering for his daughters. As some suitors can attest, it is truly a wonder that this business should ever be accomplished at all, particularly at Longbourn, and on the whole, when wooing Miss Elizabeth Bennet, since this lady desired of her beau far more than mere essentials.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, at this instant in his life, did certainly wish to strike such a bargain for a wife, and so with a hold of his breath to set his mind to right, he stood in the hall, just beyond Mr. Bennet's library; this one task at hand. The young gentleman tarried a moment to adjust the sleeves of his coat, the position of his waistcoat and necktie, and to smooth the fabric of his breeches with the palms of his hands before making a move to knock on the door. When he did so, a charitable voice bid the caller enter, and Darcy reached for the latch and let himself into the room.

"Mr. Bennet," he exhausted no time in greeting the gentleman with a considerate nod, believing brevity and respect to be the best tonic for such a state of affairs. "If you are not otherwise occupied, sir, I do desire a word."

If Mr. Bennet was astonished by the presence of a man he hardly knew asking for an audience, he certainly did not show it on the exterior. "Be welcome, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth's father acknowledged civilly.

Darcy considered his opening bidding, and the elder man's counter, to have gone remarkably well. On any other occasion he would have taken the time to look about the room. Mr. Darcy was a man wholly conscious of his surroundings, for unlike Bingley and most young men his own age, it had always been Darcy's bent to know the particulars of where he was at any given moment; but in some way this instance was curious to any other he had ever had the satisfaction of attending.

He felt a tad strange for keeping his eyes so implacably fixed upon Elizabeth's father. He barely knew the man for heaven sake, and to behave so hardheartedly before he had an opportunity to state his intention was indeed a bit too severe even for Darcy's principles. There was no point in guessing what Elizabeth's father was to say, and Darcy had no sooner been determined to open his mouth and speak his tidings, when his advance was thwarted by a measure, relatively unforeseen.

"Depend upon the fact young man," Elizabeth's father spoke by means of a stroke of insight. "I know exactly how it is."

Darcy's seriousness toward the dealing at hand improved. The corners of his lips turned upward in a flattering grin at his good fortune; his temper presuming that a father laden with five daughters, four of who were as yet unwed, had surmised the reason for just such an interview.

"I should have come earlier, sir," Darcy remained smartly reserved, affecting no stretch to one's imagination, "but with dinner taking a leisurely turn, I thought it best to wait until everyone was settled in the drawing room for the evening."

Mr. Bennet took the younger man's reckoning to heart, and so he reached high on the shelves behind him, pulled down a book and glanced at the title. "This should do," he chortled at the certainty of his own cleverness, and handed the volume to his unlikely companion.

Darcy took the offering, read the gold leaf on the spine, and yet without speaking a sensible word in total, managed to look to the benefactor of such kindness and convey his keen bafflement. There were times when Mr. Bennet had thought that the neighborhood had been rather unjust in their opinion of proud Mr. Darcy, and so he was stirred to action by the young man's obvious dilemma.

"Have you read it?" he asked.

Darcy gamely rejoined, "I have, in fact."

Mr. Bennet reached out his hand, a gesture of which Darcy was required to interpret. By the sheer luck of having been born the son of at least one reticent parent, he deduced correctly and promptly handed the book back, only to be presented another, charitably tendered.

"My dear sir," the younger man addressed his elder as courteously as his parents had taught him, but with his own certain gift for the discernment of folly. "Inasmuch as I appreciate the excellence of your library, I believe that you mistake my reason for such a conference."

"Highly unlikely," acquitted Mr. Bennet.

"Truly sir," Darcy answered; and gingerly positioned the newly offered novel upon the desk, "I have yet another motive for being here."

Mr. Bennet would not be swayed, and therefore he insisted, "Between the two of us Darcy, I understand you perfectly well."

Darcy supposed otherwise, yet he could not devise the words to equal his insistence that Elizabeth's father listen to the entire pitch. He took a chance to mask a sigh in the hope that it would placate his rising impatience, yet Darcy became aware that the palms of his hands had begun to perspire; and his discomfort grew in proportion to the deterioration of such a fragile circumstance.

"The condition of being the friend of a man so betrothed to one of my daughters certainly must have its shortcomings," Mr. Bennet continued. "I can only imagine what a punishment these obligations must be, son. I have always said that misery is to be trapped betwixt two such besotted lovers in a room full of ridiculous women."

"Well," Darcy shrugged; to some extent in agreement, "It has been..."

Mr. Bennet would not hear Darcy's full reply. "I can picture it in effect only, mind you," he nodded, "since I have not been obliged to observe it in person for some years."

"Sir, a moment is all I ask," Darcy returned to the original subject as he made yet another effort to excite Mr. Bennet's curiosity.

"My Lizzy often seeks out a book during such tedious events," Mr. Bennet then smiled fondly. His spectacles scarcely rimmed his ears and they sat perilously low upon the bridge of his nose as he stopped a moment to take a discerning look at Darcy.

"I do not know much of you, young man, but I can see a slight likeness in character between you and my second daughter. You do not look to me to be a town popinjay, though you are fastidiously tidy."

Darcy had no practical reply other than to declare with a degree of embarrassment; "I did happen to straighten my necktie before I came in."

"I imagine, my fellow, that you favor a good read to any departures of fancy, since you seem rather grounded for a fellow of what—six and twenty perhaps; seven and twenty?"

"Eight and…" Darcy interrupted the elder man's merry ruminations, though he nearly got caught up again in the nonsense of the whole exchange. "If I may continue, with your good opinion of me happily intact, it _is_ your daughter Elizabeth which brings me here to disturb your privacy."

"Elizabeth?" repeated Mr. Bennet; this time, his outer countenance easily provoked by sentiments of paternal defense.

Darcy came to presume that he had mistaken the conviviality of Elizabeth's father. He had no experience to go on, other than Bingley's acknowledgement that such an interview with Mr. Bennet had been moderately rational. Darcy, however, was finding Mr. Bennet's manner much to the contrary of the claims of his friend; for perhaps it was that Mr. Bennet had suspected Bingley's attachment to his first daughter, but Darcy had it on good authority that the poor man had been given no such plan of any other commitment regarding the second.

"What have you to say of my Lizzy?" a suspicious father inquired under a faulty notion of the man standing before him. "I expect that you have learned of the idle reports circulating among my relations and yours."

Cornered and uncomfortable, Darcy replied, "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Do not imagine yourself caught Mr. Darcy, as Elizabeth and I have reckoned it foolishness. She has no hope of tempting your good opinion, sir. No anticipation whatsoever, for we all know your position concerning the eligible women of this neighborhood."

Darcy felt rather incredulous. "I image, sir," he frowned, "that you do not."

"My daughter," Mr. Bennet touted, "if she was so inclined, would have little trouble enticing a fellow of your rank into matrimony."

By looking at Darcy, it was difficult to determine if he was insulted or perplexed, for he possessed a curious expression which seemed to incorporate both feelings, and several more besides. Hastily, and for the welfare of every person involved, Darcy was made to utter one sentence quite strong and plain, and with true grit.

"I am in love with your daughter, Elizabeth."

Upon earshot of such an avowal from a man thought to be wholly unconnected to Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet pushed up his spectacles and was compelled to engage the chair behind his desk. He appeared pale and in some doubt of what he had just heard.

"Sit down," he groaned as if his supper had upset him, and he directed Darcy toward another chair in the room with a waggle of his finger, a gesture akin to a father chastising a son; and the younger man had no choice other than to oblige, straight away.

When Darcy had reclaimed what remained of his confidence and half of his wits, his eyes again met those of Mr. Bennet. Both men appeared dazed to the point of wordlessness, yet within some moments Mr. Darcy managed to speak deftly and timely, with the intention of alleviating the torment of both himself and Elizabeth's father.

"I love your daughter—tis true," he said.

There it was, laid open. Darcy had declared his position to his lover's befuddled father, and he awaited a response. Outwardly, he had managed to uphold the confident veneer of a gentleman, as he had spent eight and twenty years in unvarying practice; but privately, aside from once being rejected by Miss Elizabeth Bennet, young Mr. Darcy had the notion that he could never more be made to suffer such feelings of utter ineptitude.

* * *

Elizabeth could not stomach the prospect of having the two men she loved shut up together, casting her future life; nor could she stand the sight within her hands of the fabric she had been worrying until two whole days of work had come to ruin. She set the cloth on the table and sprang to her feet, making haste out of the drawing room doors to glance down the hall toward her father's library.

The door was indeed shut tight and she could hear no perceptible voices, which she supposed was a sign of her good fortune. Elizabeth had been impudent in leaving the drawing room without excuse, and so, with her cheeks tinted the color of the hips on an autumn rose from a certain level of embarrassment she slipped back into the room where most of her family was occupied in various amusements.

Nary a person had noticed her departure, apart from Mr. Bingley. It must have been the appearance of curious vexation on Elizabeth's face, which made the gentleman rise and leave his beloved Jane to take up a place beside her sister.

"Miss Bennet," Bingley spoke, familiar to his gentle character; and his outstretched arm came within an inch of Elizabeth's back as he directed her light frame toward the window and away from her mother and her sisters.

"My friend is far more eloquent than I," he whispered by means of compassion. "Your father was very kind to me, Miss Bennet, and I am certain that Darcy will make a fine impression. He is not so naive as I in these matters, you know."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, her nerves sure to unravel. "He has done this before?" she flustered.

"Not at all!" Bingley's voice rose higher than was prudent. "I meant," he returned to a whisper, "I do not think that he has, no—but what I meant is that he has a better understanding under the pressures of such an interview."

"I certainly hope so," Elizabeth gave a little moan. "Let us trust that my father and Mr. Darcy can get along, Mr. Bingley. It pains me to think of them speaking of me—having to come to some sort of an agreement. What if I should be the cause of vexation to one, or to both?"

"I cannot believe that you can be the cause of displeasure to anyone."

"And if my father does talk him out of it?" worried she. "What shall I do then?"

"That," Bingley grinned, "is not possible."

Mr. Bingley's expression made Elizabeth laugh, for he was indeed a kind young man to entertain her nonsense. "Forgive me, but I must confess," she said, her arms hugging her shoulders, "with all that has happened on this day, to this being the most joyful and the most maddening experience of my life."

"What do you say there, Lizzy?" Mrs. Bennet's voice was shockingly terse. "Are we to have no part in it?"

Charles Bingley sighed, for he knew what it was to be in love, and to hope for so much happiness; and he knew precisely what is was like to love from a distance. "Ease your fears Miss Bennet," he whispered. "Tend to your handiwork, and all will be well, you will see."

Elizabeth gave him a nod of understanding and a smile of gratitude, and she did as he had so wisely advised for a man so admittedly green in the ways of the world. Upon taking up her place at the table, Elizabeth smiled at her mother and lifted the worried cloth in her hands, and from there her nimble fingers went on to repair what damage she had done.

* * *

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth's father spoke some sense, "I must own to being entirely astonished by this application."

Darcy colored, for it had been far easier to declare without reluctance that he loved Elizabeth, rather than having the obligation to explain those reasons and feelings. He had never been good at purporting his emotions, not at all.

"I have long admired your daughter, sir," Darcy then began; applying the candor he had so lacked when last in Hertfordshire. "From nearly our first acquaintance I saw Miss Bennet as a beautiful and articulate woman, and I have come to know her as kind and gentle to whoever she does meet."

"Then I shall assume that you _do_ know my daughter," Mr. Bennet came to the material point ideally willed self-evident by all fathers of daughters.

"I do, sir," Darcy applied caution. "You are aware that we were acquainted last year at Netherfield. I did meet with your daughter again as she visited her friends in Kent. It seems plain that you know of my aunt's alliance to your relation, Mr. Collins."

Mr. Bennet raised a graying brow, but said nothing. He had not known that Elizabeth had seen much of this young man when she had visited her friends, though he at once came to suspect that any reports he had recently received from Hunsford might have been more truthful than he had formerly considered likely.

It was here that Darcy lay open more, perhaps, than he had wanted to tell. "I am obliged to say that at that time I did not find Miss Bennet agreeable to any particular notice I had wished to bestow."

"No?"

"Not hardly," Darcy blanched at what he had revealed. "I considered myself to be in love, and I sought her companionship so earnestly that I did not believe in Miss Bennet's reluctance to give it, nor could I conceive of my own failure to merit such attention. I made Miss Bennet an offer, and what I believed was sensibility in tact on my part in offering up a proposal was taken as an arrogant and abusive avowal, and for that I will always be heartily sorry, and exceedingly ashamed."

For once, the stern stare of someone else did penetrate Darcy's often-unflustered demeanor, prompting him to swallow and reply in haste, "Pride does come before the fall—I believe it is said."

Darcy was perfectly contrite in his manner and appearance. He was sincerely forthcoming in his explanation to Elizabeth's father, for he had by now gone too far to have it go any other way.

"This last summer," he smiled guardedly, in memory of the event, "I again met with your daughter, and your brother-in-law and his wife in Derbyshire. The meeting was quite on accident, I assure you, but with good fortune the likes of which I could not have fixed or fancied. Over the course of such a separation it was clear to me that I was still, very much in love with Miss Bennet, and that my heart and my mind suffered for what I had pushed away. I had upset the best chance at happiness to ever be placed before me—by my show of pride in assuming that I would be readily accepted by any woman, I had slighted the very finest woman I have ever known."

Elizabeth's father did not pretend to understand the past connection of his daughter with this young man, but Darcy's appearance put forth guilt and grief in the matter so convincingly that Mr. Bennet had no reason to refute a word. Mr. Bennet fancied himself a scholar of human folly, and from the fraught expression of the young gent before him, he was receiving quite a case in study of just how obliging a man of consequence could become at the hands of a clever young woman.

Darcy sat tall and straight in his chair, his eyes, he thought, fixed on his beloved's father, and he confided his own private discipline to his senior. "I have made it my business," he divulged, "to be the sort of man deserving of your daughter's esteem and expectations."

Mr. Bennet thought it right to remain doubtful. "And have you been a success, sir?" he inquired.

"All men want good wives," said Darcy. "I have never before known a woman who wished to examine my character, let alone find a stain—to find more than a mere defect, really; and I had not thought myself to care, until the message was supplied by your daughter, Elizabeth."

Darcy ceased to speak for a moment. He had said so much more than he had intended, yet when he meditated on the effect of his confession upon Mr. Bennet, he found that for once he had the man's complete attention.

"I believe that Miss Bennet has come to see something good in me," he felt a singular emotion, a most suitable pride. "I do suppose that I have been successful, sir, as yesterday I made to her an offer of marriage, and I was overjoyed when she accepted."

As Mr. Bennet was soon to discover, there would be no end to the day's enlightenments or astonishments. If ever anyone could have felt pity for the man it was now, though it was not due to the fact that he had five daughters and no sons, but that he had only one daughter so dear, and that her good character had before now, gone so undervalued.

As Darcy had promised Elizabeth, he made his case and his plea for their future together. "If I am ever to be a happy man," he said, "with any woman to call my wife, I am convinced that your daughter Elizabeth, by all that is genuine, will be the making of my joy."

The elder gentleman offered no solace to Elizabeth's suitor. The father could not; for he now understood the merit of his darling daughter, and it was the first time that he had ever truly conceived of seeing her leave his house forever.

He pondered whether this young man, and his seemingly genuine offer would be good enough. Mr. Darcy's words of praise and affection for Elizabeth seemed irrefutably sincere, and there was no question as to his providing her with a fortunate income and existence. Where Mr. Bingley had seemed a fine, young, if not naive fellow when applying for Jane's hand in marriage, this Mr. Darcy appeared a different sort.

The man had a gift for making his point painfully clear, but prudent nevertheless—and if anything, Mr. Bennet thought him a clever match for Elizabeth's own temperament. Mr. Bennet had the notion that their lives together might never be dull if Darcy did make every effort to keep his head and if Elizabeth could forever find something in him to admire.

With some embarrassment Mr. Bennet recalled his own words of just a short time ago comparing Darcy's nature to that of Elizabeth's. The conclusion had been drawn out of ignorance for the situation, yet he had considered it, even so, and he found that at least Mr. Darcy had a hint of wisdom that Mr. Bennet himself had so lacked, when it came to the choosing of a wife.

"I am convinced, Mr. Darcy, that Elizabeth will indeed be the making of your joy," avowed Mr. Bennet.

"Then you agree to the match?"

"I must know, sir, that you will make her happy."

Darcy had no need to ponder this statement, for this very thing had been in his thoughts for many months. He could have said that it was his dearest hope to do so, or stated that he would try to keep Elizabeth content as a wife, but he offered no such obscurities.

"I will," he replied as plainly as any man of worth could ever speak his mind.

"Then sir," Mr. Bennet nodded, as there was nothing more to be heard from Darcy, "I ask for your patience as I wish to have Elizabeth offer up her agreement in the matter. If, as you say, she is of a mind to accept you, then I give you my consent."

Darcy dared not celebrate any triumph, although it was his first inclination to do so. He bit down hard on his lip, and cast a dithering sigh, for he was not to be discouraged in having to wait a few minutes more. He had wanted so desperately to shake Mr. Bennet's hand as a show of accord between gentlemen, and as a courtly display for the transfer of the lady's welfare from one good man to another.

Perhaps it was prudent that such a gesture did not come about. Darcy recognized that the palms of his hands were still damp, and if anything remained of his dignity in offering up what had to be the commitment of a lifetime, it would be that at least Mr. Bennet had not known him to sweat. In the place of any observable show of success, or of disappointment, Darcy stood up, lowered his gaze, and tipped his chin in respect.

"Tell Elizabeth to come and see me," requested Mr. Bennet; and without looking up from his venerable bow the young man ventured the most legitimate smile of his natural days, and said that he would.

Elizabeth was aware of solitary footsteps coming from the hall, and she already knew them to be the lengthy gait of her beloved Mr. Darcy. He stepped into the drawing room, though he did not go to her directly as he found it necessary to take a moment to clear the thoughts in his head. His pleasing stride in due course took him close to where Elizabeth sat beside Kitty, and as he made an effort to smile and admire her needlework, he expressed to Elizabeth in a whisper, "Go to your father; he wants you in the library."

* * *

While Elizabeth was gone, Darcy would not be easy. He could not sit down, nor could he pace the floor anxiously in front of Mrs. Bennet and her daughters, as he could at Netherfield. He did venture to walk by Bingley once and they exchanged looks of conjecture; both wondering to what end the evening would bring.

Darcy could think of nothing of sense to do, and he was having regrets that he had not taken the second book as offered by Mr. Bennet. He promptly devised a plan, and stood before the lady of the house, bowing with the utmost deference for her station.

"Madam," he said, "Pray forgive me, but I am in need of some outdoor air."

"If it pleases you, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Bennet condescended to say, though unwilling to look him directly in the eye or inquire as to his health. "Hill will bring your hat and coat."

Darcy was gone to the hall in an instant, and once his coat and hat were brought out, he hastily pulled them on and quit the house. October days were fair though short, and the nights were growing long and brisk. Darcy's quick breaths hung in the air as he felt the liberty to tread the pathway from one corner of the house, and back to the other.

He was thankful to be out in the cold, by himself, although he wondered if Elizabeth had returned, and if she would know just where to look for him. While he had always found some consolation in being left to himself, Darcy detested being without Elizabeth at that very moment.

Darcy could not know that Elizabeth had felt the same. When she had convinced her father of her love for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth had gone away to her room.

Her mind was overcome with reflections of her knowing Mr. Darcy, and of what state being a wife was to bring. She had to own that in some ways it frightened her, although she did honestly realize that any distress did stem more from the expectation of love and of marriage, rather than from any honest dread of belonging to a man. She kept to her room, until her yearning to see Darcy was so ardent that she hurried down the stairs in a whirl of skirt and petticoat, stopping once again by her father's library.

In Darcy's state of mind, he was not aware that he had paced to and fro, nor that an hour had almost passed by. He became annoyed that things had not been easily settled between he and Elizabeth's father; he grew upset with himself.

His eyes and this throat burned as he brought to mind recollections of Elizabeth's refusal at Hunsford, George Wickham's falsehoods regarding his conduct and character, and his own conceit and ill manners. It was all so difficult to let go, until he heard Mr. Bennet call his name.

Elizabeth's father addressed her suitor, and benevolently extended his hand. At last, Darcy was given his due as a man betrothed. Pride was a fetching sentiment on his face at that instant, and joyful mirth overcame Elizabeth's fears as she witnessed her father and her lover come to collective harmony. It was agreed between the three of them that Darcy would have Elizabeth, and that Mr. Bennet, and all within his household consent to the match.

The humbled father, having given his blessing, offered his daughter's dutiful hand to the young gentleman. With their hands now clasped together he smiled at his daughter and her young man, for Mr. Bennet had to wonder that they had not gotten this far on their own before now; and he said his final peace on the matter.

"Make your plans, and set the day of your wedding my child," he spoke warmly to Elizabeth; and to his son-to-be he said, "Shall we come to know one another better, Darcy? Let us decide the future of our Elizabeth over some sport. Come and shoot partridge with me tomorrow morning; and Mrs. Bennet and her cook will fix them up well for our dinner."

"I will, sir," Darcy thought it apt to smile, and to breathe easily; and when he looked at Elizabeth he noticed her cheeks color for having been teased.

"Very good," Mr. Bennet chuckled as he returned to his old ways, and made for the house, "I will tell Jane's fellow to come as well."

When her father had gone, Elizabeth felt the heat and affection of Darcy's hand in her own, and her blush persisted. "It will all be different now," she said as if it was a revelation to them both. "Every person shall know how we feel."

Darcy nodded at Elizabeth's assertion, his own color rising at the grasp of a moment that seemed so long and so far from reach; and he brought her body near to his, and her hand and her bashful cheek came to rest lovingly on the lapel of his woolen coat.

Such familiarity would be as natural as two lovers ought to feel as time went on, but for the time being there was room for patience, and it was something that Darcy did observe, for he had come to respect Elizabeth nearly a year ago, and her family now, more than he had ever thought possible.

"I wish you could know what I feel, Elizabeth," he said to her, alone.

Elizabeth held him tighter, the passions of her heart pleading for such knowledge. "It is what I have wanted," she willed herself to speak candidly, "for quite some time."

"You are what I have wanted," Darcy whispered, "all my life."

Elizabeth smiled; she laughed at the ordeal of such a day, and she wept a happy tear of liberation. Mr. Darcy was hers, and her life and her happiness from this time forward belonged to him, and she was indeed ready and willing for it to be so.

"Come into the house," she glanced up at him, her eyelashes fluttering away any remaining tears, and her hand easily slipped back into his; and they walked in concert as two lovers properly engaged to one another. As they came to the hall, their hands reluctantly parted when Mrs. Hill came to collect Darcy's hat and coat.

Darcy followed Elizabeth back to the drawing room, and to the astonishment of both, Mr. Bennet had brought himself to compromise by sitting and reading a book, directly between two smitten lovers and his house full of ridiculous women. He must have wanted to take in the scene on such an assemblage as this, and he must have wanted to know for himself just how two other lovers did get on.

The rest of the evening passed peacefully; and only once was Mr. Bennet heard to chuckle with expectation as he considered the effect on his wife when she was told such news. This night, Mrs. Bennet was again to be made a happy woman, and what pleasure Mr. Bennet would receive when his wife would learn that it was Mr. Darcy, of all men, who indeed was to blame for the making of their joy.


End file.
